//. F. Martino, Del.

"I . . . think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts.   From the ground Comes up the laugh of children, the soft voice Of maidens, and the sweet and solemn hymn Of Sabbath worshippers.  The low of herds Blends with the rustling of the heavy grain Over the dark brown furrows.  All at once A fresher wind sweeps by, and breaks my dream, And I am in the wilderness alone."

-William Cullen Bryant.